Electio
by Ripsi
Summary: Right now he still needed me, and he was still mortal. Alternate Universe of Optio.
1. Curre

A/N: All right back to chapter nine! This AU is done at the request at Sip Fornicaras. Originally I was going to have them run straight to Cheyenne so Wesker could run tests on himself but there's really no need for him to do that. So I kept some of the original writing since the story is only slightly deviating at this point. Okay, not so slight but you get it. Also, this was difficult to write… But basically in this AU, Wesker remains powerless! And "Electio" is supposed to be Latin for "Alternative."

Electio

Chapter 1: Curre

April 3, 2001 Tuesday 9:30 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Red Lodge, Montana

Status: Alert

I heard beating at the front door, like someone was trying to force their way in, but I kept for the kitchen, slipping a few times on the wood in the den. The back door had been unlocked but I thought nothing of it, and the light on the house provided me with the illumination I needed to place my key in my motorcycle. Never had I found a key that fucking fast in my life, especially without thinking, but I didn't hesitate when I heard gunshots. I hurriedly put my helmet on and reminded myself that I had a turn to get around so I was fine with starting slow, but as soon as I saw that straight, gravel driveway I was sure everyone inside the house heard me escaping. The speed limit was the last thing on my mind at this point, but Wesker was all I could think of as I got onto the interstate, Denver-bound once more, but this time Wesker was coming back with me. Upstairs he put up a hell of a fight when I told him to come with me, bruising his ego by denying him the chance to defend himself.

Right now he still needed me, and he was still mortal.

April 4, 2001 Wednesday 9:44 AM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Worried

Somehow, despite feeling like I wouldn't make it through the night, I managed to fall asleep on the couch. My nightmares ranged from dreams about the men from Red Lodge breaking in and killing us to Chris walking in to see me lying against Wesker on the couch. Both scenarios were horrifying, and I think I actually prayed to God that neither happened. Chris was more of an inconvenience right now, shit it sucked to have to admit that. Yeah, he was my brother but he was also something that I had to worry about. What exactly would happen if he decided to come visit me? Would there be some epic fight, human versus human in my apartment that went on until Sidorov decided to call the cops? That in itself would lead to Wesker either being imprisoned or shot on the spot- I was over thinking things.

Chris would call before showing up. He would.

A pale arm caught my eye, frightening me out of my dreary thoughts, and I realized it was Wesker saving the stew on the oven that had begun to boil violently as I stared right at it without seeing it somehow. Rather than apologize, I just stayed there staring at the electric stovetop, knowing that if I decided to speak it would just lead to rambling and embarrassment on my part. I was supposed to be so fucking badass that I didn't give a shit about anything yet I was burning my breakfast whilst contemplating things that more than likely wouldn't even happen. Wesker didn't need to know this; he didn't need to be bothered with my paranoia when he just took a major shot to the ego when I forced him to run from a fight.

Still staring down I mumbled, "At some point I have to go to the store." Silly I know, but the way that man ate I would have no choice. Chunky wasn't going to fill him up, and I had a feeling I was going to be binge eating to stave off an impending bought of PTSD. This situation was beyond complicated, beyond fucked up. There were no words for what exactly this was but clusterfuck covered about a third of the severity.

Suddenly I was being held, a gesture that was greatly appreciated by me; sometimes a little human contact went a long way. My eyes closed as I buried my face into his shirt, the one I really didn't want to put him in due to where it came from. It was a shirt Chris left over. That fact was one I kept from him, but I was sure that he had to know somewhere in the back of his mind that it could be no one else's. Maybe he wore it without question for my sake. Emotionally I was still ill equipped to deal with these things, whereas Wesker had decades to harden himself to the underworld and its inner workings. I don't think I wanted to be privy to any of this anymore, I think if I could I'd just go to a madhouse and get the memories fried from my brain.

Though plenty of useful survival skills would be lost I would have some kind of normal life? Failing math, that was normal. Dating wealthy Byron and vacationing with his family to Mykonos, that was normal. Settling down… Everything normal in my life was not for everyone else. I had no parents from a very young age, I ride and salvage motorcycles, I've bashed in the heads of zombies, and I was sleeping with a man that had threatened to kill my brother and me. Normal sounded so much better than this. It produced fewer nightmares, less pimples, and less hair loss. And yet, I thought, finally looking up into glacial eyes, normal didn't produce him. Though part of the problem this didn't exist.

I was a virgin before this particular dose of crazy, a tough ass chick that never had the experience of being taken. Had Byron been that guy would it have been so enjoyable? No, it would've been messy and uncomfortable, more of an incident than an event and one to forget at that. I loved the way I felt with him.

To validate this reasoning I pushed myself up on the tips of my toes to signal to him to meet me halfway. This kiss was so different for us, not because I wanted it as a means of comfort but for some other reason. Shutting my eyes to the world I let my problems fall away, leaving nothing here except us. His hand brushed against my stomach, causing me to feel a strange tingling, but nothing would stop me.

It didn't take long before a kiss led to me against the wall, something that led to clothes being stripped off, oh what followed. Something about all of this made me feel like no matter what happened tomorrow, things would work out.

April 16, 2001 Monday 10:36 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Happy

Over the past few weeks things were brought to the apartment, Wesker assured me that we were no longer in danger of the threat that had forced us out of Red Lodge, but it would have been very foolish to return. My closet was packed with clothes, shoes, and a box that contained an assortment of jewelry that I really didn't care about. There was one piece that I wore though despite there being no meaning behind it: the engagement ring. It was so odd; this felt like something so real but I couldn't even ask him a simple yet important question: what was this? Were we still playing bodyguard? I wanted to ask him so badly, but maybe after tonight.

There was going to be a party, one that Byron had failed to tell me about (he was probably too afraid). Even though he made the oddest face when I asked if it was okay that I went, Wesker still said yes. To come off as "cool" with it he told me that I needed to get out and enjoy myself. Underneath that I imagined that he was really saying, "Claire, I hate seeing you wound up and miserable, go have fun." The look on his face when I presented myself in my dress though, now that was a sight to behold. His shades may have been on their usual perch, but his brow was raised just a bit higher than any other time.

The dress was black, hugging my body tightly to make up for the lack of straps, and the neckline plunged deep, something what was a bit of an issue tonight since my breasts were a bit swollen. PMS, I thought to myself. It was a good thing that my breasts were naturally perky; this helped with their presentation, although it would probably be seen as an invitation of some kind at one of Byron's parties.

With that thought, I finger-combed my hair in the mirror, frowning at the sight it. For some reason it was dangling down past my breasts, something I never allowed to happen. Maybe someday I'd do the really long look but for now I wanted to be a little comfortable with what I already knew. I grabbed my scissors from the medicine cabinet and chopped off a few inches and threw them in the trash can without a second thought. The last thing I needed to worry about was taking care of a head full of un-layered and too-long tresses.

When I nervously walked back to the front room, my heels loud against the floor, Wesker turned away from whatever world news station he had been watching, and he was either unimpressed or upset that I was going to go out wearing this outfit. I wanted to invite him, to have him watch over me tonight, but it was out of the question. Byron wasn't the only thing keeping me from bringing him; he was a very wanted man who couldn't risk running into any big-city cops, especially when we were so close to what used to be Raccoon City. Those who survived that catastrophe probably kept as up-to-date as possible on the information, and I was sure that many of them lived in the surrounding area. Just a few months ago a cop who abandoned post was mentioned in a news article speaking about his escape from the city. I had expected to hear of his death soon, but perhaps his desire to be heard was what was keeping him alive right now. It also helped that Umbrella's stock had plummeted

"When will you be back?" His inquiry had brought me back tonight.

"It's a party so who knows?" Despite everything that I had just gone over in my mind I blurted out, "Do you want to come?"

He smiled at my offer and gave a single laugh. "Have a good time Claire." With that, he turned his attention back to the news.

Smiling to myself, I headed for the door. Hesitantly I turned the knob and left the apartment, to begin my short walk.

About fifteen minutes later I was walking into Byron's parents' mansion, my body tense as I felt the vibrations from the bass of the music reverberating all around me. College students flooded in and out of the place, not one without a red, plastic cup in their hands. A few people I knew waved at me happily but refused to step away from their current conversations but it didn't make me feel completely alone since I was used to isolation. As usual Byron was nowhere to be seen in his own house so I made my way to the backyard, avoiding being splashed by pool water as best as I could all to the reach the bar which was manned by a professional bartender and not some moron just slinging together "cocktails." Professional as he was though he couldn't help staring at the girl in front of me who was topless without any cares, and she didn't even think that maybe the creep with the camera across the pool would peddle the video of "babes." In my mind I just chanted over and over, Claire don't trip in these heels and fall onto the half-naked chick.

Rather than continue to act like I was Sara Ivanov, prepping myself to be married to the classy Jeffrey Saunders I decided to try and appreciate that it was seventy-three degrees tonight, knowing that next week mother nature wouldn't be too gracious to the young girls who had rushed out and bought new bikinis in hopes of crashing a frat party.

"SCHOOL'S OUT FUCK YEAH!" The yell was followed by a loud splash, so I didn't even bother to look, but the half-naked girl turned around, drink in hand as she gave me a view of a not so impressive rack. The bottle blonde avoided my eyes and she sauntered off.

"Four shots of vodka," I ordered, waiting patiently as he took his time filling the shot glasses for me.

Just as he finished filling the last one he frowned at me and said, "Haven't seen you in a while." It took some time but I realized that he was the very same bartender that mixed drinks at every o ne of Byron's parties and for a few other frat boys. "You look different. Happy."

"Okay…" With no idea what he meant I took back my shots and waved to him before beginning my walk back into the house. Sure I was enjoying things right now but I wasn't too sure if I'd consider myself to be happy. Maybe when the vodka hit me though… By the time I got upstairs I was sure that the alcohol would be kicking in so I could begin enjoying the party, and I was right. Not sure if I was going to be sick I stumbled into the bathroom in the right wing of the house, interrupting a primping Valerie Swan. "Sorry."

My muttered apology was unneeded and before I could leave she said quickly, "That's all right." Unsure of what to do I stepped into the room, my heels clicking loudly against the tiled floor. "Shut the door." At her request I ended up slamming it, but she could see that I was drunk so she forgave my clumsy action. "It's so fucking loud downstairs. Better up here." Her gaze returned to the mirror as she coated her lashes with some expensive looking mascara, and she further made up her eyes with some black liner.

Valerie wasn't a slut per se, but she was extremely different from the girls we went to school with. Any and every girl nowadays tried out for Playboy, but she was a certified Bunny that had appeared on the front covers of a few magazines and her spreads were infamous around here. What made her so special was that she was accessible, or at least that's what a few guys thought until they found out she was a lesbian. This reminded me of Stephanie, but she was too ashamed of the way she was to openly tell others.

Nervously I glanced around here and there, trying not to stare as the brunette applied a fresh layer of gloss to her lips. Valerie was not the typical blonde bombshell you would expect if you heard of her from someone; she opted for her natural color over bleaching, and she had no need to tan which was something she thanked her mother for since she had been a native of Greece. Her tits were obviously fake, and everyone knew her cup size: 34 DD and this caused the drooling, horny college boys much grief since they knew they would only be able to see them in a magazine. She was about the same height as me, but her body was curvier than my own, which she proudly showed off in a white and black corset and skin-tight jeans.

Smirking at her own reflection she gave a chuckle, "I thought you could hold your liquor Claire."

So did I, I thought to myself, trudging over to take a seat on the closed toilet. It wasn't like I wanted her company; I just didn't want to be alone while I pondered over why I was suddenly a light-weight. "What's it like to pose naked?" I blurted out, but my fear of a nasty retort was unneeded since she only let her smirk grow wider.

Finally, she turned to look at me instead of using the mirror as a way to make eye-contact. "Maybe you should find out. You have a body for it. Plus, you're kind of a redhead and guys eat that shit up." My silence caused her to scoff. "Don't worry. The big, scary lesbian isn't hitting on you."

A part of me wondered though. I mean, life was so complicated when it came to men for some reason. There was this Wesker drama, Leon never saw me as anything but some kid that got wrapped up in the same situation that required us working together for survival, and Byron just wanted to fuck me. Maybe it _was_ me. Maybe I just wasn't meant to be with a man. So either the fates had eternal solitude in mind or I was just not cut out for a happy relationship.

This wasn't some ridiculous argument solely based on _one_ instance. However, Wesker differed in one way from the other men who had played vital roles in my life: my dad, Chris, Leon… They had all been _my_ protectors. I heard my inner self scoff, telling me that somewhere inside I knew this. Though the deviation seemed so small it held some degree of value to me. My dad lived to protect his little girl, when he died Chris took up that responsibility. I wouldn't have made it out of Raccoon City had Leon not been there, and truthfully I wouldn't have gotten out of Antarctica had he not sent Chris to Rockfort. Then, in some cosmic joke of a twist, the man that Chris had to save me from came to me for my services.

At some point we had closed the gap between us, and Valerie's face was inches from mine, but I pulled back.

"I… I'm sorry," I muttered, stumbling out of the restroom. What almost happened, I'd _never_ do that. Not in any alternate universe could I let myself believe I'd give in to that type of situation. It was just the kind of drama that'd have everlasting effects that I _tried_ to avoid. I wasn't that girl that got a few drinks in her and was willing to try everything because of some drunken moment of weakness and despair. Wesker would be disappointed to know that that's all it took for me to jump ship and attempt to cope (very badly) with my problems. As I held onto the rail for dear life, trying to take one step at a time but at a quick pace I saw Byron with his arms outstretched.

"Hey, not even a phone call that you're back?!"

The host of the party was one of the last people I needed to talk to, especially since he would want some explanation for getting thrown into wall while standing at attention. The only way for drunken me to get around him safely was to push him aside, and on my way out I heard him yell an expletive.

Once outside I nearly tripped down the steps, a prompt to remove my pumps, and I'd just have to hoof it home barefoot. It was only half a mile and I'd gotten here just fine… except I was sober on the trek over. I'll be okay, I thought to myself optimistically. People would be leaving restaurants closer to the apartments, they'd be entering bars, and traffic would be heavy with people getting off of work from grocery stores, fast food joints, and some would just be the bored students with nothing better to do. If I fell there was no way I'd be left to snooze on the sidewalk. As I walked on I recognized a few faces from school, young women made up for Byron's party no doubt, and a few guys were going on and on about their itinerary for the function. Like them, I had set out to have fun tonight, I meant to dance and challenge frat boys to beer pong, but all it took was a little bit of liquor to completely alter my mind frame to an unrecognizable distortion that didn't mirror theirs in any form. Therein lies the problem with comparing myself to normal people.

At some point during my walk, I realized the importance of checking the sidewalk for glass or nails. "So far so good," I whispered to myself as I tipped over the pavement. Of course I was impressed with myself that I hadn't run into anyone or anything. "Ooph!" With that thought, a successful, blind walk came to an end, and in a moment of quick thinking I released my heels and threw my hands out behind me to catch myself, but somehow when I fell my ankle ended up bending slightly. As I seethed in pain on the ground, I knew that I hadn't fractured anything, but for the rest of the night I expected a sore ankle and wrists. Before I dared to look at my more than likely scraped palms I looked up to see what brick wall I managed to run into. What I saw when I looked up though was no brick wall.

What I could see with the help of dying street lamp was a person, whose face was shaded from the angle that I sat. I could see a tuft of white hair atop head that was hidden mostly in shadows, a body I swore that was as wide as a refrigerator, but an observation that was even more intimidating was that the figure had to be almost seven feet in height. Great, I'd managed to bump into the Terminator. "Sorry," I groaned out, snatching up my pumps and attempting to get to my feet. When I attempted to put weight on my left ankle, I felt my whole leg shake, and I was prepared to once more fall on my ass. Surprisingly, two huge hands shot out to grab my arms, and the man was so strong that that was enough to almost lift me off my feet.

"Are you all right?"

Tilting my head, I felt even smaller once I heard the thick Russian accent, and had I seen or heard him earlier then I guarantee that I would have been more careful. But he offered me help so I guess this didn't turn out as bad as I had thought it would.

"I think," I said, looking around for some reason.

Once he released my arms I noticed that they had been shackling them all the way around. "Looks like you had a lot on your mind," he offered, taking half a step back, revealing a scarred, right eye that probably had no vision. Now I felt really bad if I caught him when he was without peripheral vision on one side.

In a small voice I mumbled, "Just trying to get home. I'm so sorry." After my final apology I tried to walk around him, but I felt my ankle give out underneath me.

In one swift movement he picked me up bridal style, his reflexes surprising me. "You obviously cannot walk. Let me help you miss."

Being so close to a stranger was a bit unnerving, especially when I had been the cause of this incident, and now _he_ was helping _me_ out. To ensure that I wouldn't fall, it would have been a great idea to wrap my arms around his neck, but that was out of the question. As he cradled me closely to his massive body though, I knew it wasn't necessary anyhow; this guy probably lifted the front half of Rams for a warm-up.

"What apartments are you staying in?" His inquiry rumbled in his chest, shaking me within.

"Skyline." The pitch of my voice was pathetically higher than usual. This man was a stranger to me, this whole thing could have been some ploy by a serial killer, and I didn't possess the physical strength to stop him or run if any of my crazy thoughts were true.

Once we began moving, he seemed to show no signs of physical strain from my weight, and I now didn't fear being dropped. I still had a fear of him being some kind of alleyway slasher though, and at this point I realized that there was no point to my outing. I could have stayed home, watched TV or did some living room workouts. Right now a redo button would have been very much appreciated in my life, and as we neared my apartment I kept an eye on ever passerby just in case I needed to call out for help.

"A beautiful, young lady such as yourself shouldn't be out alone. American nightlife can be… dangerous."

This was definitely the moment of foreshadowing in movies to a girl being strung up in some basement that was modified for torture. We were close to the apartment though and people were still pouring in and out of buildings.

To bolster my standing as a hardass and downplay my current status as a damsel I said, "I can take care of myself." The statement was bold, daring, and the realization that I could have just unwittingly challenged him made my blood rush so fast that I was now sober.

The vibrations in his chest were so great that it felt like I'd been rocked by thunder. "Is that so? I've seen _men_ in war who had claimed that they were capable of defending themselves. And these were Russian soldiers."

I looked up to him despite not wanting to make eye contact, but his comment rubbed me the wrong way. Because of my current position I wouldn't set the stage for our own personal cold war in the form of a dick measuring competition. If it helped, internally I was kicking Mr. Russia's ass. Finally, I almost said aloud as we reached the front door.

Gently, he let me down and I tried to keep weight off of my injured ankle. "Did you need any help getting upstairs?" he offered , something which was odd since he just insulted me.

Fighting the urge to stick out my tongue I prepared to walk through the front door. "I got it from here. Thank you for your help though."

"Sergei," he boomed. "Colonel Sergei Vladimir."

_I didn't ask._

"Claire Redfield." That came out as a habit, because I really didn't need to tell him anything.

"Redfield?" he asked with a smirk. "What an interesting name."

"I guess. Well, thanks again. Good night Colonel Vladimir." I thought by calling him by his title that he would be so buttered up he'd accept this as goodbye. With a nod I bid him farewell and I went for the elevators. Once I was upstairs I started for my apartment, expecting a bitch of a walk and a hell of a story about a rabid Russian for Wesker. Yet when I turned the corner I saw him standing in the hallway, his face free of shades. When he saw me his eyes opened slightly wider, something he probably though I'd miss since it was so subtle. Why would he risk leaving the apartment for anything?

The sound of a door opening stole my attention though.

"I totally forgot-"

Maritza had stopped dead in her sentence once she saw Wesker staring down the hallway, her hair flying over her shoulder as her head whipped in my direction. She was attempting to continue a conversation with him for some reason. At this point I don't think things could get any weirder.

A/N: Ok I have to stop. Sorry for taking so long getting anything up. I have a midterm I have yet to cram for though. Night.


	2. Gravatus

saddlebrat: Thank you! If this chapter isn't up to par I plan to tweak it anyhow.

TanuSherry: Maritza always gets out of her little spots.

Tenebrarum: Thanks! Here it is!

Sip Fornicaras: Vodka isn't so terrible, it's the cheap stuff that will do it though like Ivanabitch. But Claire should probably watch what and when she's drinking ;)

Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or its characters, but I do own this story and any original characters.

Electio

Chapter 2: Gravatus

April 16, 2001 Monday 11:52 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Confused

"I… see you've met my friend." In my head I knew I sounded like an idiot, but I couldn't risk saying what I really wanted to say. Let's just say I was going to call him by Wesker, and a few expletives would have followed.

Maritza didn't seem at all to catch on to my apprehension. "Yes it's so nice to meet the infamous Victor that swept you away from us."

I was so drunk that I could've sighed in relief.

"Well, I was just worried about you; it seems that whenever you're around I miss you." 

I didn't know Maritza cared that much about me, but instead of being rude I nodded at her, probably looking like an idiot.

"Nice to see you Claire," she stated sweetly, disappearing back into her apartment.

Wesker knew that I had questions for him, but he only went back into the apartment, deliberately avoiding eye contact with me. God he was lucky I was feeling sicker than I ever had before.

April 17, 2001 Tuesday 9:45 AM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Sick

That was it, I was calling it: the end of this sudden date with my toilet. I'd been retching so loudly that I swear I heard Wesker begin to pace out of vexation. Of course I didn't want him to think of me as some party-girl who did this every night and morning. He wasn't exactly the typical roommate a college student had, and really he wasn't typical in any sense. Usually I was a pretty mature individual, but the fact that he had the wisdom of a tortoise was quite intimidating. That was enough to force me to push myself up from the floor and draw a bath for myself.

I don't remember if I showered last night, jus that I slept on the couch to spare Wesker of vodka breath and possible flailing arms. So I happily sunk down into the water, letting it wet the hair at the nape of my neck. A few times I dozed off, something I only decided to stop doing when the water started to cool. After scrubbing myself clean I toweled myself off, discovering pruned skin that would need much regenerative therapy from some overpriced, greased down moisturizer that Wesker had coincidentally bought thinking that I would pick it out for myself. Before that though, I decided to tackle the matter of my tangled mane. Wincing, I yanked the ponytail holder from the messy bun that sat atop my head, and I hated myself all over again. When I started brushing my hair started at the ends to avoid pulling out too much from the roots, but as I made my way up I noticed that my hair seemed quite long.

I finished brushing the section and pulled it down to see that it reached the bottom of my unbound breast. "What the fuck?" The bathroom door opened, letting in the cool air from the apartment, but I didn't bother to look as I knew it was Wesker. "I could've sworn I cut my hair last night," I said more to myself. I looked to the waste basket to see if I would find any of the hair I'd previously cut, but it was empty. I'd forgotten that Wesker had taken out the trash last night, and I didn't expect him to have looked around for any hair.

Maybe I didn't cut my hair, maybe I thought I did; last night was trippy as hell. There was a moment of renouncing men and then a whacked-out Russian who couldn't let go of the Soviet era. So as I thought I'd done the night before, I took the pair of scissors from the medicine cabinet, chopping off about four inches. As I threw the locks into the waste bin I took a moment to see if I'd love or hate my amateur job, and decided it'd do until I could get to a salon for some layers. Suddenly I remembered that Wesker had been watching me, but before I could acknowledge his presence, I noticed a fullness to my hair that hadn't existed before. The texture was wavier, and though I'd learned in intro level Bio courses that twenty-two was the age of changes, I didn't expect them to be overnight.

My focus on my appearance must have bothered Wesker, because he asked, "What is it?" with what interestingly sounded like concern.

"I'm just getting old," I replied, still staring at my reflection. Rather than search for anything else 0out of fear of disappointment- I made my way to the doorway that Wesker insisted on preoccupying. While he was being so attentive I decided to inquire about our arrangements.

"How much longer are we staying here?"

Blank stare in place, he moved aside to allow me across the threshold. "I've been calculating the next step."

Walking to my room, I felt a sense that I could only define as ethereal, almost as if I was halfway into an out of body experience. This feeling was only exacerbated by the fact that Wesker was close behind me. "Is it that bad?"

"It will be taken care of." Though my mind was preoccupied, I noted his declaration , appreciating the fact that for once I had someone to think about the details and take care of things. I still didn't know what to call this thing we had going on, but it appeared to be a serious relationship. We never mentioned it or used labels, but he was still here, and he hadn't cut me off in the bedroom.

Stopping in front of my dresser I noticed that I had my arms folded so tightly over my chest that my breasts were sore. I fished out a pair of underwear and jogging pants from my drawers, putting them on first. The tenderness in my breasts refused to fade and seemed to worsen as I leaned down to my shirt and bra drawer. I threw on a racerback tank before attempting to put on my bra, but my breasts were so swollen that they were spilling over the top of the brassiere. Since this would be extremely uncomfortable to deal with all day, I threw the bra back into the drawer finding that I could go without one as long as I wore a hoodie. I turned to Wesker to complain about this newest finding, but a cop knock made both of our heads snap towards the direction of the door. The interruption had sunk my mood even more, and I stomped to the door noisily to let my frustration be known, but when I made it to the door without a peep from Sidorov I made a mental note of the oddity. Usually he would look for any accidental racket as reason to beat the ceiling with his cane, yet this intentional noise had slipped by him. Perhaps he'd fallen asleep watching a game show, but I couldn't for the life of me understand why I bothered to speculate.

Annoyed with both the interruption and myself, I flung the door open without checking the peephole, a mistake that could have had severe consequences. However, it only made me happier about the surprise that was behind the door. "Leon!" I had intended to shriek loudly but I was far too tired to muster up the energy, and the only reason I managed what I did was because Wesker needed a signal to barricade himself in the bedroom. The thought of having these two in the same apartment at one time frightened me so that I felt myself become hot with not only fear but guilt, and when I felt the latter I was known to get quite chatty. "Do you want something to eat; for like the first time in forever I actually have real food!" More guilt over food that was purchased with Albert Wesker's money. "When did you get here? Is this some kind of fancy business trip?"

The only thing he offered me was a smile on that handsome face of his though, probably attributing my nervousness solely to excitement. "Claire, I'll just take a beer."

With my nervous smile still in place, I pulled a bottle from the fridge and walked back over to the couch he had plopped down onto. "Usually you eat like a horse, what's up?" I set his beer down on the coffee table before taking a seat next to him.

An accomplished smile spread across his face, "Well, I just so happen to be dating the girl across from you who loves to cook."

Wow, I thought to myself. Leon and Maritza were both good looking people so it only made sense that they'd hook up, but I also knew that my buddy had the tendency to become extremely awkward around women. In my mind I attempted to play out a scenario in which they'd meet, but I came up with nothing other than a scene of him dropping his food in some restaurant at the sight of her. It seemed she was getting to know quite a few people in my life, and though the habit of suspicion had been hammered into me I narrowed it down to it being a sign from the universe that I needed to make more female friends.

When he opened the beer I noticed his muscles flexing just beneath his skin. Working as an agent had done him good in such a short amount of time, yet I couldn't appreciate his body in the same way that someone like Maritza would. She had nothing to do with that, there was something in me that just never made me want to jump him. Perhaps our friendship was just that and our bodies knew it. We never mistook fear for chemistry, and those traumatic events only bound us in a platonic fashion.

"So what was up with you and that road trip shit?"

For a second I considered getting myself a beer from the 'fridge, but smell of his made me nauseous. "Road trip's over," I offered a bit too enthusiastically.

"What happened with your boyfriend?" He nearly slung beer everywhere when he raised his hands in exasperation.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I teased. Though I'd been lying for some time Leon wanted details, scenes played out so he could produce a picture show in his head, but I had not become that talented in the art of deception. I wouldn't mention even the faked events that marked the pretend relationship of Sara Ivanov and Jeffrey Saunders. He would have to deal with obscurity just as I did, and maybe because he didn't know the true identity of the mystery man he would paint a happier picture than I could.

April 17, 2001 Tuesday 12:00 PM

Subject: Redfield, Claire

Location: Denver, Colorado

Status: Fine

Leon stayed for as long as his libido would allow him, something I figured I could excuse him for, especially since Wesker was still holed up in my room, probably asleep or reading some news about politics in a country I would never hear about. As I said goodbye for the day Maritza had seemed to be examining me for something, almost as if she knew me better than I thought she did. However nothing was odder than Leon's nerve to make a statement about the size of my breasts, and it bothered me because I thought I'd done such a good job at hiding them. He also made a comment about the length of my hair, and then he went so far as to say that I looked happy. The bartender had said the same thing…

Once more I found myself looking into the mirror, and I then found myself thinking I looked prettier. Never had I been the type to just sit there and admire myself, but today was already one of those strange days. Eventually I began checking my body in the full sized mirror on the bathroom door, disappointed to find I'd gained some love recently. This prompted me to pull out my scale, and I removed my hoodie, taking a deep breath before I stepped onto it. More disappointment, it told me that I had gained five more pounds. My bedroom door opened and I saw Wesker staring at me, probably trying to figure out what the hell I was up to now, and then a thought popped into my mind.

"Wesker are you sure you're sterile?" I turned to the side and pulled up my hoodie, sucking my stomach in only to find that there was still evidence of a pooch.

Brow furrowed, he neared me, surprising me by pulling me into an embrace, but I continued to stare into the mirror. This prompted him to run a hand over my stomach, the bump feeling more prominent than ever now despite its size. Without permission he began pulling up my hoodie, causing me to protest, but even without Tyrant strength he overpowered me. I wanted to yell that now wasn't the time, to tell him that my concerns were merited in these small changes. I knew my body and I knew that something was different.

"I just want to check," he whispered in my ear, and that was enough to calm me. He then peeled up my tank just over the top of my areolas, and I felt him pull back a bit. His hands moved to my breasts, squeezing slightly, but that was enough to make me grimace at the feeling. "How does that feel?"

"They've been feeling sore for the past few days," I admitted.

"Your areolas have darkened…. veins are more visible. That's impossible."

"What does all of that mean?" I heard my voice raise a few octaves, fear taking hold of me. "You said I couldn't get pregnant by you." I turned to look at him, but he looked more perplexed than I've ever seen him, a frightening sight. This man never ran from anything, not even death from what I had heard; he proudly stared down his fate, determined to go through with his plan despite uncertainty about the outcome. Right now, I couldn't even convince myself that he was certain of anything.

"Go to the bedroom, I'll be there in a moment."

"Why?"

"Claire, now."

As I made my way to my room I heard him turn on the faucet, but eventually it the sound of water spraying into the sink was drowned out by my heart pounding. I felt lightheaded by the time I reached my bedroom, taking a seat on the edge of my bed to catch my breath. I don't think I ever experienced this amount of anxiety, not even when I was being tortured by those crazy Ashford twins. This kind of thing was life-changing for me; if I was pregnant then it was by the most wanted man in the world, it would be the niece or nephew of a man that hated their father's guts, and what kind of life could we lead? Pregnant, hunted, hiding. Just as I was about to send myself into a panic attack over a dozen scenarios, Wesker entered the room, holding his hands in the air in typical doctor fashion. I wasn't sure what he intended to do but that wasn't a good sign.

"I need you to stand up Claire." he instructed, his voice cold, his gaze blank.

Had he not set such a serious tone, I would have probably asked why, argued with him even, but I was the one that brought this to his attention. So I did I was told, feeling my body sway as I still struggled to catch my breath.

"Remove your pants and underwear."

Once again, he sounded all business, and I followed instructions.

His chest rose visibly as he took a deep breath. "Put one foot up on the bed."

My balance was off, and he quickly stepped forward to offer me his shoulders as assistance in stabilizing myself. An odd feeling swept over me, perhaps I felt a bit awkward, but who wouldn't?

"Claire," he began, his voice almost a whisper, "Think of this as a doctor's visit." Though this did not comfort me I now had an idea of what he was going to do, and it was best that I wasn't comfortable.

For some reason my vision clouded with tears as his right hand disappeared from view, and I winced at the feel of one of his fingers entering me. As he pushed as far as he could I pursed my lips, never taking my eyes off of his. Then he inserted a second finger, adding to my discomfort, but I was the one that brought my concern to his attention, and he was giving me confirmation. What alarmed me was that he stayed there for a moment, unblinking, staring at me through his shades.

Then he shook his head and removed his fingers from me. "It's impossible." Pulling away from my hold, he returned to the bathroom, and I heard the faucet turn on again.

I could only sink down onto the bed, sitting there and awaiting his return.

When he reappeared he began speaking without prompting from me, his hands on his hips as he stopped just in front of me. "Your cervix is open; women who are not pregnant have no penetrable cervix. You also –from what I can tell- have a mucous plug. All of this is impossible because it would mean that you are _very_ far into a pregnancy." Then he knelt down in from of me, taking my hands into his. "Claire you will deliver soon."

"We started having sex in February. You were my first I swear!"

His hands squeezed mine, and it was an act meant to hush me or tell me that he believed me.

"You said you couldn't get me pregnant." My voice was shaky, eyes filled to the brim, and my world was beginning to crash all around me. There was nothing to be said and he knew it. Sorry would do nothing for me, an explanation would offer just as much, and comfort could only last for as long as he could hold me. "Was it a lie?"

Taken aback, he released my hands. "What are you talking about?"

"You were _supposed_ to be sterile!" Ignoring the fact that I was still half naked, I continued my rant.

Though I saw his desire to become defensive, he chose to maintain his usual calm, but he still stood up to display dominance. "As far as I knew I was."

"So there could be others?" The thought of other women in this same predicament made my skin crawl and my stomach turn in disgust. "Have you called up any of your exes to see if they've got a little Wesker?" More than anything I wanted to break down, sink to the floor, and assume the fetal position for at least five hours while I wept until I couldn't anymore. Despite wanting to do that, I knew that it wasn't the solution to this, and I'd look more of a brat if anything. "You don't have to deal with this Wesker… you don't understand." I finished pathetically.

"Al."

"What?"

Rather than elaborate he once again kneeled before me, this time not touching me as a show of respect for my personal space. Still hung up on him telling me to call him Al, I experienced a delay in registering what else he had to say. "I have no other children Claire. If I did I believe I would know. Though it may not comfort you much to hear this, I have to tell you that I made sure. This," he paused to place his hand on my stomach, "is the only child I've created."

I didn't know what to think, what to believe. I shouldn't have been pregnant in the first place, but he seemed to be taking it better than I was. This did not ease my nerves though as I couldn't help but wonder about what this meant for the future. What if in the future a man with his eyes came forward wanting to find his father? I was always sure I would never be in this situation, because I was sure that I would never end up pregnant, and I felt that after any affair with Albert Wesker, I'd never be with another man long after he was gone. This revelation was not only a game-changer for me but for him as well.

Still, there was an even bigger problem that I could tell he wanted to address at a later time, but later would have to be pretty immediate in this case. His eyes had managed to betray the tone of his voice despite his attempts to depict a sense of calm; he was just as worried about this accelerated gestation as I was.

"What are we going to do?" I was not speaking as a woman who was weighing her options on how to go about pregnancy; I was speaking as a woman that was concerned for my life. I appreciated his desire to keep the situation tranquil for my sake, but he and I both knew that this was an impossible scenario that could only point down a road with much strife paving the way.

"There's a facility. We need to get to Cheyenne and-" The sound of a cop knock stopped him mid-sentence, and I was about to ignore it.

"Claire open up!"

My eyes lost focus, staring right through Wesker. My heart dropped into my stomach which also tied itself into knots. Forever a wrench in his plans was Chris Redfield. For the first time ever I think I knew his frustration…

A/N: The abandonment of my stories was for a good reason: As of Sunday I am a college graduate. However, now I have to find another school to go to and figure out for sure what I'm going to go to school for next. Anyhow, I don't like how I wrote this and I may tweak this chapter when I have the chance but I've been working nonstop to make up for the days I've had to take off for my graduation and my boyfriend's upcoming graduation. So eventually I'll have some time! Until then review! I got some cereal to eat and a shift to endure. Also, if anyone knows anything about Qosmio laptops and those SLIGHTY older, discontinued models that you can still buy new only on Amazon let me know. Another reason to work so hard since I need to get another laptop lest this one finally die on me after 5 years.


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